The Village
by Teenage Mouse
Summary: Arthur Kirkland is in London to defend his title as Olympic diving champion. He's appalled at the debauchery going on around him in the Olympic Village, but decides to just ignore it; he knows his goal, and he will not lose sight of it. No matter how much that stupid, sexy Alfred F. Jones tries to distract him!


~ Sex and The Village ~

Arthur Kirkland was a little appalled when he saw people passing out free condoms in the Olympic Village. What was this – freshers' week at university?

But he was even _more_ appalled when it kept on happening, day after day: a never ending flow of free contraceptives, encouraging the downright debauchery he saw and heard all over the Village, all summer long.

It was really putting his country to shame, and none of the other Olympians seemed to care. Arthur just thanked God that the Olympic Village enjoyed such privacy, so there was no risk of the media getting in and finding front page gold – as various famous athletes gave in to the adrenaline and excitement of Olympic fever.

He tried to ignore it. If the other members of Team GB wanted to waste all their time and energy fraternising with the enemy, then that was _their_ problem. They would slowly lose all chance of achieving anything worthwhile or lasting in these Olympic Games by treating it like a party and losing sight of their goals.

But Arthur Kirkland would keep his focus, for he had had a taste of gold, and he wanted more. He was here in London defending his title as Olympic diving champion, and his lonely gold medal would look so much better as part of a pair. He knew his goal, and he would not lose sight of it.

No matter how much Jones' perfect body tried to draw his eyes away.

Arthur just couldn't understand it. They _all_ had perfect bodies; Alfred F. Jones was no different to any other diver. So why did Arthur have to look away whenever Alfred walked past in his little Speedo, for fear of actually losing all control and tackling him then and there?

They were competitors, but it was doubtful that Alfred, so new to diving at this level, would beat Arthur this time. Maybe in four years; the American was a rookie, but he was damned talented, and everyone was keeping their eye on his career. Especially the media, who loved the sunny American with his photogenic smile and body, and his media-friendly laugh and chatter and attitude.

There _were_ a few divers Arthur _did_ have to worry about at these Olympic Games: people who could potentially oust from his position as number one. But Alfred wasn't one of them.

And yet, Arthur had to worry about _him_ just as much as he did about his main rivals. Arthur could feel himself losing all ability to concentrate at the mention of Jones' name, even at the mere sight of the American's team mates in case Alfred might be among them. Arthur was good at blocking all else out, just focusing on his sport and his ambitions for gold – but the American was just as good at sneaking into his head.

And seeing the other athletes prowling around each other like animals in heat, hearing people go at it at night, even _seeing_ them sometimes when the adrenaline got too much and they lost all inhibitions in public – it made Arthur hyper-aware of and excited by Alfred F. Jones' very existence, and all those possibilities.

They'd spoken only twice.

The first time was at the Opening Ceremony.

Arthur had felt so gaudy in his white and gold tracksuit. Plus he was tired, and everyone was so loud. He just wanted to get a good night's sleep and concentrate on sport – wasn't that what the Olympics were all about? So he couldn't help the little scowl and angry flush that decorated his face throughout the entire procession.

The Games were declared open, the athletes began to mingle, and Arthur was about to turn and head directly to bed, when a hand clamped down on his shoulder.

"You're Arthur Kirkland, right?"

Arthur turned, and came face to shoulder with a tall, handsome, golden, American. A dream of a human being standing right before him, actually seeking him out specifically.

Of course, Arthur Kirkland would never let on that he was so immediately interested.

"Yes. Alfred Jones, isn't it?"

Alfred laughed. It was rather deep – more of a chuckle. It was much different than the trademark laughter he gave on TV or with his teammates.

"Actually, it's Alfred _F._ Jones. And might I say, it's a pleasure to meet you, Arthur."

He held out his hand, which Arthur shook.

The champion's eyes widened for a split second as Alfred stopped their hand-shake, gripping Arthur's hand tighter, and piercing his eyes like an arrow.

"A _real_ pleasure," Alfred said softly, but Arthur heard the words reverberate inside his mind as if they were the gongs of cathedral bells. "You don't know long I've been waiting for this moment."

Before Arthur had time to react, he was swept away by his teammates. Good thing, too, because Arthur dreaded to think what he would have done in the moment of weakness that he was sure would have followed.

Even as the other athletes pulled him away, Arthur's head turned automatically to look over his shoulder, where he found Alfred still watching him go.

The second time they talked was the very next day. Alfred sought him out specifically. Again.

"Arthur Kirkland," smiled Alfred, plumping himself next to Arthur on the bench where the Brit was sitting. "What are you doing out here all by yourself?"

"Enjoying the sunshine," Arthur said truthfully. He may be very focused, but he was not a robot – he needed breaks to recharge, and he'd been working hard all morning. _And_ it was actually _sunny_ in August. In _England_. He had to see this weather for himself.

"Mind if I keep you company?"

Arthur paused, wondering how to word just how much he didn't mind. "Please do."

Alfred grinned at him, slung an arm around the back of the bench, and in the process, Arthur's shoulders, and crossed his legs comfortably.

"So, lot of pressure on you, huh?" Alfred said casually. "Defending your gold medal and everything. Think you can do it?"

Arthur threw an offended look his way. "Of course I can."

"That's nice that you think so. Gotta have hope, right?"

"It's_ not_ hope!" Arthur practically shouted, suddenly enraged at the American's cocky and impudent attitude. "I _know _I can do it. I did it fours year ago, didn't I?"

"Well, yeah. But, no offense, like you just said: that was _four years_ ago. Age doesn't exactly help in most sports, does it."

Arthur stared at him, his impressive eyebrows not knowing a glare good enough for the anger he was feeling.

"I'm 23," was all he could think to say.

"Yeah, and I'm 19. I think I could take you."

Arthur was fuming, breath coming raggedly, chest rising and falling visibly as he almost crouched on the seat, ready to pounce on Alfred in rage.

"But still, you're looking pretty good in there," Alfred said casually, nodding towards the indoor pool behind them where they'd both been training.

"Well, I _have_ been practising," Arthur scoffed, sarcastically.

"No," laughed Alfred, that uncharacteristic, dark chuckle. "I meant in your Speedo."

And in a moment, Arthur's passionate anger had turned to electric, vibrant, sexual tension. Adrenaline suddenly coursed through his veins like a drug, and a blush formed on his face and neck as he thought of Alfred watching him and checking out his body.

"So you practise, huh?" Alfred said, voice low, drawing closer and closer until his lips were pressed against Arthur's ear. "You practise exercising those pretty legs of yours? They look strong. Like you'd make a great rider."

Arthur was gripping the fabric of his tracksuit bottoms like a lifeline. Because he did feel as if, at any second, he was going to give in to the current and be swept away.

The American's strong, toned arm drew tighter around Arthur's shoulders, trapping him in, and Alfred's hand trailed softly up and down the Brit's arm.

"I know you're a classy guy and everything and we only just met. But whadda ya say we go somewhere and – "

"Arthur! Your coach wants you!"

Arthur fled.

And this time, he did not look back.

Now aware of the spell Jones seemed to have cast on him, Arthur avoided him as much as possible. _Concentrate on winning the gold_, he told himself. _It's the only thing that matters in the world right now._

Of course, then the sex started happening _every_where and Arthur just couldn't stop thinking about it. The atmosphere was smothering, the very air weighed down with the athletes' desire and passion everywhere he went – for sport and medals during the day, and for each other's bodies and taste at night.

And every time Alfred caught Arthur's eye, as he went out of his way to do, the tension was practically debilitating. Screw his "no sex during competitions" rule. The Brit just wanted to storm over and take what he wanted and let Alfred have his way.

But he wanted that gold even more.

Although, it was worrying how often he had to _tell_ himself that. "_You want the gold_ _more_." So many times, every day, like a mantra – as if he were caring less and less about the medal and wanting Alfred more and more.

The third time Alfred and Arthur met was the night before the final.

Arthur was going to bed. He was in the middle of an empty corridor, heading towards his apartment, and Alfred appeared at the other end of the hallway. He was walking straight towards him, no way to avoid the inevitable collision. Arthur thought about just turning round and running away, despite how obvious it would be. But Alfred clearly wasn't going to let that happen.

"Arthur Kirkland," smiled Alfred. "Well, well, well. Meeting tomorrow's rival in an empty hallway, no witnesses in sight. What should I _do_ with you?"

Arthur had paused, but Alfred continued walking until they were face to face.

"You should let me pass so I can get some rest for tomorrow. I suggest you do the same."

Alfred looked at him silently for several, long moments. Arthur avoided meeting his eyes.

"After the finals tomorrow, will you stop avoiding me?"

At that, Arthur _did_ look up. _Alfred knew? _He thought about denying it, but those intense blue eyes wouldn't let him say something so stupid.

"Would it matter if I did?" he asked.

"It would matter to me."

Arthur's heart forgot to beat a few times, and then when it started up again, he could have sworn it had moved, or grown bigger, or was working at double speed – or perhaps all three.

"I…haven't been avoiding you. Just trying to keep focused."

The smile that had been growing on Alfred's face slowly turned predatory. "Oh. I'm sorry," he said, taking a step forward, and making Arthur hop backwards quickly to protect his personal space. "Have I been distracting you?"

Arthur scowled and blushed – possibly not the best combination for someone who wanted to lie about their feelings.

"Y-y-you have done no such thing!" he exclaimed, taking a step back and finding himself somehow against the wall. (_How had Alfred steered him there?_) "Absolutely n– "

He shut up when Alfred slammed his hands on either side of Arthur's head, pinning him to the wall without even touching him.

"Oh, yeah? So I could just do whatever and you'd be fully functional tomorrow at finals? It wouldn't even faze you at all?"

"Of course not," Arthur sniffed, nose in the air.

Suddenly, a fiery hand was clamped around Arthur's wrists, pinning his hands to the wall above his head. But Arthur barely even noticed, because that was nothing compared to the firm body pushing him almost roughly into the wall. Alfred's mouth was at his ear, another hand had a bruising grip on his hip, and the American's body rolled against his, leaving Arthur gasping up at the ceiling, squeezing his eyes shut to ignore as much of this as possible.

"Then I just want you to know that I'm going to have you, Arthur Kirkland." Alfred's deep, smouldering voice burned into the Brit's jaw, leaving scorching trails where his lips brushed the other's flushed skin. "Oh, the things I'm going to do to you. Tomorrow, the day after, and all summer long until we leave. You'll be all mine."

Arthur's body was responding. How could it not, with the American surging up against him, growing obviously hard against Arthur's thigh, and breathing like an animal into his ear?

Arthur moaned, trying to buck up against Alfred's body but finding only empty air instead. He opened his eyes, blinking back the haze of arousal and stars to clear his vision. Alfred had taken a step back so they were no longer touching, apart from where the American's hands still gripped Arthur's wrists above his head.

"No kiss?" asked Arthur, falling back on sarcasm to save what was left of his dignity.

Alfred grinned. "Not yet. Only the gold medal winner will get a _real_ taste of me."

Arthur's eyes widened, then abruptly narrowed in anger.

"You little tramp!" he exclaimed, hoping the name-calling would hide how hurt he was. He tugged against Alfred's death-grip on his wrists, but couldn't get out. "After all that! All that, and you don't even care if it's me or someone else?"

Alfred smiled softly, and took a step closer, nuzzling his nose against the crook between Arthur's jaw and ear. "Don't be stupid. It's all _you_, Arthur. You'll win the gold. And I'll be all yours."

Arthur gasped at Alfred's words, spoken so earnestly and longingly against his throat. He hadn't actually considered the possibility that the American wasn't driven purely by lust. Well, wouldn't that be interesting… What if Alfred actually _liked_ him? What if he could have Alfred for good, win him away from everyone else?

Emerald eyes widened at the chaste little kiss Alfred left on his throat as he pulled away.

"And then," the American smiled, all white teeth, sun-kissed skin and golden hair, "I'll tease you mercilessly, saying you only won gold so I'll sleep with you. And everyone'll think it's true."

Alfred watched in delight as Arthur's face went through a kaleidoscope of emotions. Before it had time to settle into murderous, he was off – scampering down the corridor out of sight, leaving only his laughter behind.

~~~~~~~ ooo ~~~~~~~

The next day, all through the pomp of the medal ceremony, and the chaos of reporters asking him about his new gold medal, Arthur kept seeking out Alfred in the crowd.

Because he liked the smile Alfred kept giving him – one that was as happy for Arthur's success as it was for his own bronze medal. The British champion just couldn't shake the feeling that Alfred cared about him, and that, if he tried, he might actually be able to win Alfred for good. And God, did he want that.

So Arthur kept his focus on Alfred all through the interviews, the congratulations, the cheering, and the noise.

Because now he had a new golden prize to focus on, and he wasn't going to let it out of his sight.

* * *

**A/N:**

Wrote this for the USxUK LJ community's USUK Olympics events this summer. Finally remember it and decided to upload here.

It was inspired by an article I found talking about the RAMPANT SEX that was going on in the Olympic Village. Not just at the London Olympics, but in other years, too. People didn't really talk about it, but after one athlete mentioned the debauchery in an article recently, it's aaaaall coming out. Seriously - read some of these articles and tell me you don't want Alfred and Arthur to be a part of that.


End file.
